Streetwalker
by majiklmoon
Summary: A UC story featuring Maria and Rath. Tragedy has driven Maria into a whole new life a life you would never excect.
1. Chapter 1

_Streetwalker_

**Rating:** Teen/Mature

**Disclaimer:** Roswell belongs to first to Melinda Metz, then to Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox. She created them; they killed them. I'm just borrowing them.

**Author's Note:** So I decided in the middle of writing my POV series, that my next personal challenge was going to be writing UC for all the major ships. Of course, I've still got one more POV to finish up, but this story just came into my mind last night and started screaming to be written. It's kind of funny, because the two main characters are two of my least favorite characters in the series. But when the muse speaks, I listen.

_Chapter One_ – _Somewhere in Maine_

The truck bumped across the field, jostling the occupants against the seats and doors. The driver swerved to avoid the ruts, but hitting them was inevitable.

"Do you see them?" the driver asked.

"Their still on us," his companion replied, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice. "We have to lose them. Is there any way you can make this heap go any faster?"

"I'm trying," said the driver. He put his hand on the dashboard, and the truck suddenly picked up speed. The back window shattered, and the driver grabbed his companion and shoved her down onto the floor in the space between the seat and the dashboard.

"Keep you're head down," he said, focusing on the grassy field. "They're shooting at us."

"Be careful," she whispered.

"I'm going into the woods," he shouted over the whine of the engine, and the hail of bullets. "Maybe we can lose them there."

After several minutes of wild driving down an old logging trail, the driver stopped the truck and shut the engine down.

"I think we lost them," he said. "You can get up now, it's safe." 

His companion pulled herself back up into the passenger seat, and slumped against the window.

"That was so not my idea of fun," she said. "We need to find someplace else to hide. Maybe we should try a city this time. We can just sort of blend in."

"That's a good idea," the driver said, in a tight voice.

Something in his tone captured her attention, and she turned to look at him and gasped.

"You're bleeding. Oh, God, they shot you. We have to get you to a doctor. Move over, I'll drive."

"We can't go to a doctor, you know that," the man said. "Besides, I think it's too late. I don't think I'm going to make it." 

"Don't say it! Don't you dare say that!" the woman cried. "You're going to live. You have to. I don't know what I'll do if you die."

"Not if, when," the man replied. "And when I do, you'll go on. You're a fighter, you'll survive."

"Not without you, I can't survive without you," she whispered.

"You can, and you will," the man said, softly. Now get your things and get out of the truck. I'm going to blow it up. If we're lucky, they'll think we both died in the explosion, and they won't come looking for you. This is your chance to be free. Take it, Maria, and don't look back."

"But Michael, I love you," she said through the tears.

"I know, Maria, and I love you, and I'm sorry every day that I ever dragged you into this. At least let me give you this, one last chance at freedom."

He paused as a spasm of coughing shook his body. The end was near. He could feel his life slipping away in the blood that flowed from his wounds. He was tired. So tired of running, so tired of watching as the people that he loved died, one by one. It was over, his time had come but he could give Maria this one final gift, the gift of freedom.

"I love you, Maria," he choked. "Hurry, I don't have much strength left."

Maria sobbed brokenly as she grabbed the bag that held all her possessions. 

"I don't want to leave you," she said through her tears.

"Maria, you have to," Michael gasped between paroxysms of coughing. I need you to do this. I need you to have the life you lost when you came with us. Please, do this for me."

"I love you Space Boy," Maria whispered. She slid across the seat and pressed her lips gently to his, kissing him, the man she loved, for the last time.

As they kissed, a blue glow filled the cab of the truck, and Maria felt a jolt of energy pass through her body.

"Michael?" she whispered. "Michael?" she whispered again, knowing in her heart she wouldn't hear anything. Michael Guerin was dead.

In that moment that Michael died, the last living bit of Maria's soul died as well. It had started dying when Alex was murdered. The day they left Roswell, it died a little more. When the Special Unit caught up with them in Colorado, she lost a little more of her soul when she saw Kyle and Isabel jump to their deaths off a canyon rather than be subjected to the white room.

When Max died, it had been horrible, but at least he had died a noble death. He had rushed into a burning building to make sure everybody had gotten out safely. Everybody did, everybody except Max. Looking back, Maria was certain he did it to spare Liz the pain of seeing him captured by the Special Unit. But it still hurt, and the dark stain that filled her soul grew a little larger that day. Unfortunately, survivors of the fire filled the newspapers and airwaves with stories about the heroic stranger who had some miraculous power that held the fire at bay, allowing them to escape.

Liz was like a small child after that. She couldn't do anything for herself. She existed, but she didn't live. It was like the essential thing that made her Liz had died right along with Max. She willingly followed Michael and Maria as they attempted to elude the Special Unit once again. They were in Nevada when it happened. The Special Unit had tracked them down again. It was seeing them that seemed to bring Liz back to life. She fought like a Valkryie against them. It took six agents to subdue her while Michael and Maria watched helplessly from their hiding spot in the mountains. Liz waited until the last possible second, and used her powers on herself, blowing her body, and the six agents into little pieces. 

Maria started to scream, and it was only Michael's quick thinking and fast hands that stopped her from launching herself at the remaining agents to avenge her friend's death. From then on, part of Maria felt as if she were dead. She only felt alive when she was with Michael. He was her anchor, her only connection with her old life, the only thing that kept her sane.

But now, Michael was gone, and she was alone. What she wanted to do, more than anything else in the world was cry, but she didn't have that luxury. Michael had said he was going to blow up the truck, to give her the chance to escape. He couldn't do that now - it was up to her.

She heard the drone of several engines, and she knew she only had a matter of minutes before the Special Unit found them. Maria reached into Michael's pocket and fished out the large silver lighter he always carried. Why an alien who could start fires with his hand carried a lighter, she never knew, but now she was glad that he did. 

Maria pressed one last kiss on Michael's now cold lips. She grabbed his hand and slid the ring that he always wore off his finger and slipped it on her thumb. She grabbed her bag and climbed out the passenger door and ran around the bed of the truck to the fuel filler door. She flipped the door open quickly and removed the gas cap and tossed it in the bed of the truck. Then she pulled the bandana she wore around her neck off, and with the aid of a stick, stuffed it down into the gas tank so that only a small corner of it stuck out.

Maria looked around and planned her escape route quickly before she lit the lighter. She touched the flame to the edge of the bandana and waited for a moment to be sure that it had ignited. Turning quickly, she ran into the woods and ducked down behind a large granite outcropping deposited by some long ago glacier, and watched while the truck exploded in a ball of fire.

The last bit of Maria's soul died that day along with Michael. After the explosion, she sat in the woods, waiting for the tears to fall, but none came. It was only then that she realized it was because she was dead inside. Everything and everyone she ever cared about was gone, and she was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_ – _New York City_

She leaned against the cold brick of the wall, ignoring the icy wind that circled around her. The wind tousled her hair. Once blonde, it was now a violent rainbow of colors worn in a short spikey style. She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette that she lit with a large silver lighter. She took a deep drag on the cigarette, filling her lungs with the sharp but soothing smoke, flicked the lighter shut and stuffed it back into her bag.

She surveyed the scene around her with a jaundiced eye. Pickings looked pretty slim tonight, but it didn't matter. Something would turn up, it always did. She wasn't fussy. As long as they had the money, that is.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the brick wall and began to walk slowly down the street. There was a cop coming, and the last thing she needed was to get picked up on a loitering charge. She relaxed a bit when she realized it was Flaherty. He was the regular cop on this beat, and never gave her any trouble.

"Hey Angel," he said when he caught up with her. "How are tricks?" 

"It's pretty slow, tonight," she said. "Where ya been? They had a real hard ass covering for you."

"Sorry, Angel, couldn't be helped. Took my kid out west to look at a couple of colleges."

"Oh yeah?" she said, pulling in on the cigarette and releasing a steady stream of smoke into the cold night air.

"Yeah, we made a regular family trip of it," said Officer Flaherty. "We saw the Grand Canyon, and took a swing down into Mexico. We even went to that UFO place, you know, Roswell."

"Yeah," she said, sadly. "I know the place you mean."

"Look Angel, this isn't strictly a social visit. We got word that some psycho is picking up girls and killing them, then dumping their bodies in the river. We've found three bodies so far. You be careful, okay? Stick to your regulars."

"Sure thing, Flaherty, thanks for the warning," Maria said, knowing full well she'd take any trick that came her way. Live or die, it was all the same to her.

"Well, I gotta be going," the cop said. "Spread the word, will you? Let the other girls know what's going on."

"Sure thing, Flaherty. Hey, you wanna grab a cup of coffee before you head out," Maria said, reluctant to sever contact with the police officer for some reason. "I'd love to hear more about your trip. What was Roswell like? All alien themed restaurants and stores everywhere I bet."

"I'll say it was," laughed Flaherty. "We even ate at this one place, the Landing Strip or something. All the waitresses wore these little antenna things on their heads."

"The Crashdown," Maria said softly. She felt a sharp pang in her heart, but ruthlessly tamped it down. There was no place in her world now for her old life. That life died with Michael.

"Yeah, that's it," said Flaherty in amazement. "How'd you know?" 

"Just a lucky guess. See ya around Flaherty," Maria answered, walking quickly away.

"Hey, what about our coffee?" the cop shouted to her retreating figure. 

"Rain check," Maria called, waving her fingers in the air.

Three hours later, she was ready to call it a night. She watched as her last trick pulled his pants on, and struggled with his shirt. Turning tricks wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. It wasn't Maria that sold her body time after time. It was Angel. Maria just floated up there on the ceiling, looking down, watching Angel. Maria never felt their grasping hands pawing at her body. And when it was all over, she became Maria again. She was what she was, a prostitute, a whore, a street walker. There were a thousand different names for what she did. She called it surviving.

"Pay up," she said, bluntly when his head emerged from his shirt. 

"Yeah, sure," the man said, removing for what Maria thought was his wallet. Instead, he pulled a knife with a very lethal blade out of his coat pocket. "Or, I could punish you. You're a dirty girl, and you do dirty things," the man said. "You should be punished for what you do."

"Shut up, freak," Maria said. "And give me my money." She held out her hand for the cash, and waited tensely, ready to make a break for it if need be.

"You're evil, and you need to be punished," the man said again. "God is telling me to punish you for your sins. The blood will come out of you and wash you clean again."

He brandished the knife and Maria sprang off the bed and tried to make her way toward the door.

"Die, dirty girl, die!" the man shouted.

Acting instinctively, Maria raised her hand to stop the man, and a bolt of energy flew from her hand, striking the man in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Maria muttered. She wrapped her arms around her waist and knelt on the ground and began to rock back and forth. "Oh my God. What did I just do? Help me, can someone help me?"

She sat, possibly for only minutes, but to her, it seemed like hours. She rocked back and forth, her eyes darting around the dreary room like some kind of mechanical toy. Finally, she allowed herself to relax, trying to convince herself that what had just happened was only a figment of her stressed out, overworked imagination.

"I did not just do that," she said to the dead body beside her. "I did not hold out my hand and blow you up. You had a heart attack or something." Maria repeated it over like a mantra, until finally, she half believed it.

"Okay, the guy had a heart attack. He was a sick psycho with a knife and he had a heart attack. Flaherty, I have to find Flaherty, he'll believe me."

Maria got up off of the floor, giving the body as wide a berth as possible in the dingy cramped room. At the door, she looked back, and the site of the john's prone body, and another burst of fear coursed through her body. Out of habit, her hand shot out, reaching for the light switch, only this time there was a short blast of energy, and a lamp across the room exploded into pieces.

Instinct took over and Maria turned and ran. She made her way through the dank hallway and down the decrepit stairs that led to the door. Once outside, she took a deep cleansing breath of the cold night air and tried to steady her breathing. Without warning a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, and Maria spun around in fear.

"Yo, chill!" came an eerily familiar voice. "I been lookin' for you."

Maria turned quickly around and felt her world explode around her. Standing in front of her was Michael, her Michael, alive. But it wasn't Michael. There was a hardness about this man, that despite all his years of neglect and abuse, Michael never had.

"Yo, you ain't Ava," the Michael look-a-like. "I thought for sure it was you. I thought I felt, wait, I know you," he said, looking more closely at Maria.

"No you don't," said Maria, gathering her wits. "Now let go of me before I scream." She pulled away, readying herself to run. 

"Whatsamatta? Whadda you afraid of, anyhow? Ain't you gonna say yo to you're old friend, Rath?"

Without warning, Maria burst into tears. The first tears she'd shed since the night that Michael died. It was like a floodgate had opened inside of her. Without warning, she turned and ran back inside the dingy hotel she used to service her customers.

After a seconds' hesitation, Rath followed her, taking the stairs two at a time. He spied Maria standing in the hallway outside of a room clinging to the doorframe as if it was a life preserver and she was drowning.

"Why'd ya run off for?" he asked when he joined her at the door. She said nothing, and looked into the room to see what she was staring at. 

"Oh, he said, walking into the room. "Who offed him? Where's you're man? What's his name, Michael, right? He do this and leave you to deal with the mess?"

"M-Michael's dead," she managed to get out between the sobs that wracked her small frame. "They're all dead. I'm all that's left." 

"That's rough," said Rath, his voice anything but sympathetic. "Who did that, then?"

"I, I think I did," Maria said.

"You didn't do that, you ain't one of us," said Rath, his voice accusing.

"Of course I'm not one of you!" Maria shouted, the years of suppressed emotion finally coming out. "I know I'm not one of you, you don't have to tell me that!" she yelled over the sounds of light bulbs exploding down the length of the hall.

"Or, maybe you are," said Rath. "Come on, let's get out of here, this is gonna take some thinkin'."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_ – _New York City_

"Come on, let's get outta here," said Rath, grabbing Maria by the arm. "We can go back to my crib. Come on." He started walking and turned back to see if Maria was following him. "Hey, it's Maria, right?"

"Angel, I go by Angel now," Maria said. She reached into her bag with trembling hands and withdrew a package of cigarettes and her lighter. She pulled out a cigarette and fumbled with the lighter, trying to get it to light.

"Here, let me," said Rath. He took the lighter from Maria's hands and lit it. He cupped his hands around it and the end of the cigarette while Maria inhaled deeply.

"Thanks," she said as he clicked the lighter shut. He passed it to her, and she slipped it carefully back into her bag, drawing deeply on the cigarette.

"Ya know, that stuff will kill ya," Rath said, conversationally, walking down the street.

"Ask me if I care," Maria said. She blew out a stream of smoke into the air and shot a withering glare at Rath. "Dead or alive, it doesn't matter to me."

"Whatever," said Rath. He took off at a fast clip, looking over his shoulder occasionally to make sure that Maria kept up. Several blocks later, he stopped at the steps of a decrepit building, too run down for even a crack house.

"This is it?" Maria asked, skeptically.

"Beats the streets," said Rath. "You comin, or what?"

"Yeah, sure," said Maria. She dropped her cigarette on the sidewalk, and ground it out with the sole of her shoe. "Lead on McDuff." 

Maria followed Rath up the stone stairs and through a door that hung on its hinges by only a miracle. The hallway Rath led her down needed to be completely redone before it could even be condemned. Something scampered across her foot, and she shuddered slightly, hoping it was only a mouse and not a rat.

"Come on, I'm starving," Rath said. He pushed opened a door and walked into on of the apartments. Maria followed him hesitantly unsure of what she would find. She was surprised to find that it wasn't the cesspool Max had described after his trip to New York.

"So uh, you want somethin' to eat?" Rath asked. He looked into the battered refrigerator and pulled out a large cardboard box. "I got pizza."

"Sure, fine," said Maria. She perched carefully on a battered sofa, reminiscent of the one that graced Michael's apartment. When it didn't collapse, she relaxed against the back and looked around with a jaundiced eye. It sure as hell wasn't house beautiful, but it beat sleeping on the streets, or worse, back at her place with the dead psycho john.

"So, Rath said, placing the cardboard box of pizza on the couch beside Maria. "Did you'se guys Zan heal you or somethin'? That how come you got powers?" He passed his hand over the cold pizza and the cheese began to bubble and steam rose from the surface.

"No, Max never healed me," she replied, shortly. She reached into the box and pulled out a slice and took a bite to forestall any further conversation, but it didn't work.

"Then how come you got powers? Don't tell me you don't got 'em. I could feel them."

"So, where's Lonnie?" Maria asked, trying to buy herself some time. 

"Dead," Rath responded bluntly. "She got shot in a drive by one night. You satisfied?"

"No," said Maria. "What about Ava? Did she ever come back?"

"Nah, I ain't seen her since we high tailed it out of that hick Mayberry town of yours," said Rath. "Now are you gonna tell me how you got powers?"

Maria fumbled in her bag and pulled out the cigarettes and lighter and quickly lit a cigarette. She filled her lungs with smoke and felt the soothing rush of nicotine rush through her body. She relaxed and exhaled, sending a stream of smoke into the room while she though about what to say.

"Right before Michael died, or maybe it was as he was dying, I kissed him. There was a flash of light. I though at the time it was him, dying, but I guess he was giving me his powers. I don't even know if he meant to do it. I'm almost positive he _didn't_ mean to do it. I didn't know he did it until tonight," Maria explained. 

"Yeah, tonight, what happened tonight?" Rath asked, curiously. "I mean, somethin' set it off. You didn't just whack that guy for the hell of it, right?"

"Word on the street is that some guy was killing the working girls. One of the regular cops gave me a heads up and warned me to stick to regulars for a while. I decided not to listen, and I ended up with the psycho."

She paused and took another drag from the cigarette in her hand. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to be here, and she sure as hell didn't want any freaking alien powers. The last thing she wanted was to get sucked back into the alien abyss again. Or at least that's what she was telling herself.

She dropped her cigarette into a discarded can on the floor, and stared off into the room. She fidgeted with the heavy lighter as she thought about what to say next.

"So, whatcha doin with somethin' that big and heavy, anyhow?" Rath asked, more as a way of distracting her then anything else.

"Oh, it was Michael's," Maria replied. "I don't know why he carried the stupid thing. I mean, the guy could light a fire with his hand. Why use a lighter, right? But he always carried it with him. I, I took it off of his body and used it to blow the truck up after he died."

"What?" asked Rath, disconcerted by the abrupt change in topic.

"Michael knew he was dying," Maria said, tears shining in her eyes from the dim light of Rath's apartment. "He told me to get out of the truck and run, that he was going to blow it up. He thought the Special Unit would think that we had both died in the blast, and I'd have a chance to live a normal life. As if I could ever live a normal life without him," she added bitterly.

"But he died," Rath prompted.

"Yeah, he died, and I had to blow up the truck, and I did and here I am, and we all lived unhappily ever after, the end. Now will you shut the fuck up?" Maria shouted. She turned her head quickly, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, but she wasn't quick enough. Rath reached out in an unprecedented show of gentleness and compassion and pulled her to him and held her tightly.

Maria felt as if a damn inside of her exploded, and all the grief she had been holding inside began to spill out. She cried longer and harder than she ever had before in her life. She mourned the loss of her friends, and the man she loved, but most of all; she mourned the loss of herself.

Maria pushed away from Rath and looked up into his face so like Michael's and yet so different. She looked into his eyes and felt a connection form between them, and without hesitation she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him deeply. His tongue was pierced, and she found the sensation of his stud in her mouth strangely erotic. The kiss deepened, and she began to ease him out of his shirt, her experienced hands divesting him of that garment before he was even aware of what was happening.

"I ain't him ya know," he said once. "I ain't Michael. I can't be him for you."

"I don't want you to be him, Rath. I need you to be you. I _need_ you."

Maria stood up and smiled and held her hand out to Rath. He rose and stood beside her and wordlessly motioned toward the bedroom. She followed his lead and found herself in a dark and dreary room with nothing but a mattress on the floor. She kicked off her shoes and using both her hands pulled her shirt up over her head, and then slipped out of her skirt. Rath's breath caught at the sight of naked body standing before him, and he quickly pulled off the rest of his clothes. He knelt down on the edge of the mattress and opened his arms to Maria. She stepped into his arms and the fell to the mattress together.

The morning sun struggled to make its way through the grime- encrusted windows. Maria stretched languidly and smiled to herself. She felt – she felt alive. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. Since before Alex died. She looked at the man lying next to her on the bed and smiled. It was because of him, but it wasn't. Rath was the catalyst that allowed her to live, but she was the one doing the living. And she knew that it wouldn't be here, and it wouldn't be with Rath. He was right, he wasn't Michael, and he couldn't be Michael, and she didn't want him to be. She didn't know what she wanted, but she was pretty sure it didn't include Rath.

She slipped out of the bed carefully and pulled her clothing on. She looked at what she was wearing in disgust, amazed at what she had let her life become. She turned and looked around the room and smiled as an idea took root in her mind. She pressed a hand to the wall, and a bright rainbow took shape and spread across the faded dingy wallpaper.

Maria smiled at her handiwork, grabbed her shoes and walked quietly out of the room. She spied her bag sitting on the decrepit couch and she grabbed it. Michael's large lighter tumbled to the ground and she stopped and stared at it. Acting on impulse, she picked it up and walked quietly back into the bedroom and placed it gently in Rath's outstretched hand. Giving his slumbering body one last fond smile, she walked out the door and into her new life. The life she chose. She could go anywhere and do anything; maybe she'd even go home again.

Rath woke slowly, and rolled over on his side and looked for Maria. But he knew she was gone. His hand brushed the cold metal of the lighter and he grabbed it and looked at it and smiled. He knew Angel was gone forever. Maria was too. He knew she wouldn't be back, but he also knew she would be okay.


End file.
